


Deny

by Desdimonda



Category: StarCraft
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artanis returns to his quarters after a long, rough day and decides to take control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deny

**Author's Note:**

> This was commissioned by the wonderful Xania, who will be translating it for the Chinese community too. :3

As the door hissed open, Artanis turned his head, stretching the stiff muscles in his neck. It had been a long day with little progress. Harsh words had been exchanged between him and his advisers, and the tension had built up steadily throughout the course of the day. It only led to further aggravate his words and rising hostility.

And the only person he wanted to see was no-where to be found.

Alarak never stayed in one place for long. Flitting between rooms on the Spear of Adun as he pleased, or occasionally departing to his fleet when he so wished, without word of warning. Artanis knew he wasn’t going to have it any other way and that Alarak would not bend to his will. The newly appointed Highlord answered to no one but himself. 

As his fingers pressed against the taut muscles, pushing out the tension, feeling the friction of his claws and that it was time he trimmed them, he noted that he was not alone.

Artanis pushed the weight of his pauldrons off his shoulders and let them fall, stalling the crash of their descent just in time with the wave of a hand as he let them hover above the ground. The lights were dim, casting no clue on his company. But he needed no lights; he needed no sound, no touch. For with every step he took closer, the familiar presence let itself be known, thread by thread, as the Hierarch approached. 

“You do like to make me _wait_ , Hierarch,” drawled Alarak as he gazed up at his lover from his bed where he lay languid and bare but for the cord guard that rippled as he brushed it aside, the light catching the black metal piece by piece.

Artanis paused, a clawed hand suspended before his chest as he stared, feeling each of his hearts respond to the sight that lay before him. It was not a sight that his eyes gazed _down_ upon often. Alarak, bare, unbound, his head tilted to gaze up at him, emitting a strange, tantalising presence in his aura that said, simply; _take me_.

Wordless, Artanis pulled off what remained of his armour. He was thankful he had chosen to wear little this eve. Meetings didn’t call for armour, and neither, did this. 

Hesitation marred his steps. They made his movements rigid, awkward. Feeling the taut air of his presence, Alarak let a low laugh break the silence of their shared connection. 

He made no move to help his lover; but he helped himself. Alarak slid a hand between his legs, two claws prying apart his wet slit, bulging with the ache of his cock that was begging to be free. He wrapped two, three fingers around the slick, hot flesh, elongating each stroke as he watched Artanis struggle. With what, exactly? Where to begin.

Alarak bent a knee as he spread his legs, feeling the aura of his lover play out what he wanted, where his limbs still stood rigid, alone.

“You test my patience, again,” hissed Alarak, as his fingers continued their luxurious motions. 

All that remained on Artanis was his golden belt and cloth that hung between his legs. With a click, it fell to the floor. At last he moved with grace, his hand pushing away Alarak’s as he straddled his lover, powerful thighs pressing tight, securing him in place. Claws brushed his crest, the tips grazing, tantalising as Artanis leaned down close, making each motion, each breath, each touch, count.

On instinct, Alarak felt his back curve into Artanis as he straddled him, his touch so slight, but by the Void, it was powerful. The tips of the Hierarch’s severed cords touched his chest, the metal clamps cold and brisk against his skin. 

Artanis pressed together their crests, letting their psionics weave together, thread by thread. His touch, light at first, slid from Alarak’s face and crept down his arm, inch by inch, until it met his his wrist and held it in place. 

Artanis shivered. He had never been in a position of power; pushing his lover into subjugation, pressed beneath his thighs, aching for him. The insecurity seized his body once more, sending a tremor through his psionics. Each of his hearts pounded. His arousal throbbed against Alarak’s stomach, slick, desperate to sink deep inside.

Alarak’s impatience disturbed the air; it bristled their connection and brought Artanis out of his brief stupor. The Highlord struggled against Artanis’s hold, pulling free his hand. 

“If I want something done,” he began, gripping Artanis’s shoulders as he made to push him off , “I must do it myself.” A surge of anger fuelled the Highlord’s actions as he gripped his lover and tried to push them off the bed. But Artanis resisted. 

Gone was the delicate touch, laced with desire; gone was the nervous trepidation. The Hierarch resisted in his lovers efforts to take control and seized his waist with both hands as he dragged him from the bed, across the floor, and with a surge of psionic energy he slammed his body against the wall. His body met Alarak’s a breath later, skin on skin, their cocks slipping together, drawing out a strangled moan from the Highlord.

But Alarak did not submit. He fought, pushing against the Templar’s hold. Artanis used a knee to keep a leg pinned in place as his fingers, clumsy and rough, gripped Alarak’s arousal and tugged hard; once, twice. 

Their crests touched, rolling together as Artanis drew forth another surge of psionic energy to pin his lover, firm, to the wall. 

“ _Stay_. Your Hierarch commands it,” said Artanis, his words thick with a drawl as he began to exude his control. 

“You cannot command me,” said Alarak, his words laboured, broken by the rolling fingers on his cock, the claws grazing, teasing, nicking the skin. 

“I can,” said Artanis, slamming his arm against Alarak’s neck. Their eyes met; ruby red to blue. “I can, and I _will_.”

Alarak narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the swell of desire that stirred his psionics at his lover’s words. 

“On your knees.”

Alarak smirked. “No.”

The arm at his neck pressed tighter, but it just drew a trickle of a laugh from the Highlord. Artanis stepped back, gripped Alarak’s nerve cords and ripped off the guard, the black metal scratching, tearing at the cords. The jolts of pain seared through his skull, to his brain, pulling a cry worthy of his hand. It shuddered his body and made his knees buckle. He fell to the floor with a thud, breathless.

Artanis gave him no time to react. In his hands sat the cloth that hung from his waist and Artanis bound it around Alarak’s neck, tightly, the metal edge biting into his skin as he pulled, jerking back his head. His body trembled as he took control, for this position was not familiar, this sensation was new. He tugged again at the cloth, watching the metal score at his lover’s neck. Alarak groaned, his knees grazing the rough, metal floor at their feet as he shifted, reacting to the pain. 

“Please your Hierarch.” Artanis spoke as he grabbed Alarak’s wrist and pulled his hand towards his cock; hot, hard, yearning for the other’s touch. He was sure the desperation seeped through their psionics, clouding their connection, but Artanis pushed it aside, silencing all but his desire to control.

Alarak obeyed.

Hands that once commanded, now were subjugated as he did his lovers bidding. Each glide, each stroke was long, languid, his ruby eyes flickering with the bites of pleasure and pain that soared through his body. The metal tipped cloth that was his leash, stung, tearing at his skin like a lover’s bite. Artanis’s moans, grunts, whimpers of pleasure were a melody to the Highlord as he pleasured, just as commanded. But the longing for his touch; for someone to satiate his own desire was overwhelming. And as Artanis tilted back his head, eyes closed, lost in the swathes of his pleasure, Alarak let a hand drop to his own desperate, untouched arousal. 

“No.”

Artanis snapped back his hand that gripped the makeshift leash and dragged the Highlord to his feet, denying him what he sought. He saw the flash of anger in the Tal’Darim’s ruby eyes and felt a moment of hesitation seize his body. 

“You can’t command me,” goaded Alarak, pulling himself closer with his leash, black claws sliding across the cloth. 

“But I can deny you.”

Artanis growled as he took a step forward, and with his lover still leashed, pinned him to the floor, the cold, brittle metal scratching at his back. 

One hand pushed down Alarak’s shoulder as his other echoed the strokes that Artanis had commanded him to do. As now Alarak’s hands were bound beneath his lover’s knees, between metal and bone.

And Alarak watched, for that was all he could do.

He watched as his lover pleasured himself, with languid, smooth strokes that he pined for. A whimper, a moan; desperation filled their psionic connection as Artanis writhed above him, rocking back and forth, the weight of his thighs bearing into his hips, and biting into his immobile hands. He was sure he felt the sting of blood pool against the cold metal. Alarak swore. 

He buckled his hips, his hard, aching cock sat untouched, the tip grazing his stomach and every so often, it glanced off Artanis’s knuckles; just a breath, a tease. He could do nothing. The air was suffocating. Their psionics singed the air with their lust; it rippled against their skin, drawing out the strangled moans that were a melody to the harmony of their desperation.

Alarak struggled, pulling against his bonds. He swore. “By the - the Void,” he breathed, thrusting his hips upward to the Artanis, watching the juices from his slit fall to his stomach. “ _Fuck me_ , Hierarch.”

“No,” came the simple, but laboured reply. For Artanis was almost at the peak of his climax. He leaned closer, his claws searing into Alaraks shoulder, tugging on the leash, inch by inch, as Artanis furiously drew his hand up and down his length, his knuckles dragging against Alarak’s stomach, and grazing his cock. 

Alarak cried out, the frustration a pain in tandem to his hands beneath Artanis’s knees. But still, he watched. Every glide, every movement, every grunt, every drip, every quiver of the man above him as he pleasured himself, all to deny him. 

Artanis shuddered. His body seized. He pulled the leash tight just as he took the last luxurious stroke of his cock and spent himself all over Alarak’s chest and face with an unbridled, unhinged moan, letting the warm, bitter liquid trickle down his fingers and glisten his lover’s pale skin. His body trembled, and Alarak drank in the vibrations as they soared over his skin and through their connection. 

Artanis collapsed against his lover, his knees buckling as his crest met the damp crook of his neck.

But that was Artanis’s one mistake. For Alarak was free of his binds and in one swift motion, pressed Artanis’s face into the floor as he pulled up his hips with the other hand, still bloodied and bruised. 

He leant forward, his wet chest pressing against Artanis’s back, his cock sinking roughly into his dripping slit as he wrapped a clawed hand around his neck.

“Try and deny me now.”


End file.
